


On Two and Four (With Conviction)

by thingsyoumissed (orphan_account)



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thingsyoumissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about waiting, and about percussion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Two and Four (With Conviction)

**i.**

At the end of the last song, in the last show on the last tour, Spencer hits his cymbal at the wrong angle and cracks it. It's happened before by mistake, and the cymbal is easily replaced, but this time it's on purpose. He throws his sticks out into the audience, end over end with higher arcs than usual, and lets Brendon squeeze him tightly around the waist before they all walk off the stage.

It’s a hometown show, which they had all agreed was fitting, and there’s a limousine waiting outside the venue once they finish stripping off what’s left of the band and sliding into jeans, t-shirts and hoodies, sneakers or flip-flops. Spencer’s been wearing negligible variations on the same outfit for years now; they all have.

He gives the driver his address and leans against Ryan just a little bit. None of them talk, as least not much – he can hear Brendon murmuring something to Jon but doesn’t try to listen, and the space falls silent again for the rest of the drive. Everything they could say about this has been said before: first to themselves, then to Pete, then to the fans and the press.

Ryan’s fingers curl around his wrist, anchoring.

Jon is leaving tomorrow for his wife and kids in Chicago, Ryan the next day for his new house in Connecticut. Everything Ryan owns has been packed and shipped already, by anonymous movers, all of it handled while they were on the last leg of the tour. Spencer doesn’t really know what Brendon’s plans are, mainly because Brendon probably doesn’t have any.

Spencer’s only plans are to get through his divorce proceedings without driving his brand-new car off a cliff.

“My house is so empty,” he whispers to Ryan, without meaning to say anything.

Ryan rubs the back of Spencer’s hand with his thumb. “I know,” he whispers back. “We’ll fill it up tonight.”

 _Yeah, but you’ll be gone tomorrow, or close enough_ , Spencer thinks. Ryan slides his hand down, rubs Spencer’s fingers, pressing between his knuckles, digging his thumb into Spencer’s palm. Spencer closes his eyes and sucks in a quiet breath. Ryan concentrates for a minute on the fleshy part between Spencer’s thumb and forefinger, then tells Spencer to give him his other hand.

He does. “Thanks,” he murmurs as Ryan presses his fingertips in to the cramped muscles. “I played harder than I thought I would.”

“I almost thought you were going to hurt yourself,” Ryan says dryly, and Spencer thinks to himself that doing that wouldn't have been too terrible. He’s not planning on touching his kit anytime in the near future, if ever. He doesn’t want to look at it, he doesn’t want to see it. He doesn’t want much more than silence for a while.

“Spence,” Brendon says, but nothing else. Spencer reaches out with his foot and prods Brendon’s knee just for the hell of it. Brendon’s mouth quirks, not really a smile, and he holds on to Spencer’s ankle, not letting go the entire rest of the drive.

 

 **ii.**

He drives Ryan to the airport. Before they get out of the car in the parking garage, Ryan says to him, “I think you should come to Connecticut with me,” in a soft voice, nervous fingers brushing at his hair.

Spencer stares straight ahead, at the concrete pillar with the wide blue stripe. “I can’t leave yet.”

“I know. But when it’s done.”

Sometimes Spencer feels like the divorce will never be finished. It’s been more than a year already. She’s not mean about it, she’s not demanding anything more than she thinks their time together was worth, and Spencer doesn’t hold it against her all that much anymore.

There was a time when he did, before he’d realized that they’d just gotten married too young. “I know there’s only a few years between us,” she’d said once, “but sometimes you make it feel like decades, Spencer.”

Most of the time, yeah, Spencer would have to agree with that.

“Yeah,” he tells Ryan now. “Yeah, I think that would be good. Nice.” He’s been kind of afraid of how much he’s going to miss Ryan. Seeing Jon leave yesterday had hurt more than he’d expected it to.

Ryan leans over and wraps his arms around Spencer, and Spencer hangs on tight. “Brendon’s going to need someone to take care of him for a little while, until he gets used to it being over,” Ryan whispers in his ear. “Can you…”

Spencer nods, not trusting himself to speak, and hauls Ryan bodily over the gearshift and into his seat, closer to him. In twenty years, they’ve never been apart like this before, and Spencer is kind of overwhelmed at how much he doesn’t want to let go. Ryan doesn’t seem to want to let go, either, and they stay like that without moving until a car alarm goes off somewhere in their section, and Spencer opens the door and lets Ryan climb all the way over him to get out.

In the check-in line, Ryan fiddles with the strap of his bag. “Why did I think this was a good idea?” he asks suddenly, his eyes wide. “Why am I doing this?”

“Because you want to,” Spencer reminds him gently, and then the counter is free and he pushes Ryan towards it, waits for him to get his ticket. “My lawyer says it’s almost over,” he says when Ryan’s done. “Twelve weeks at the most.”

Ryan’s nodding quickly. “Okay, yeah.”

“You can get settled in.”

“Right. That's probably a good thing.” Ryan’s hands twist on the strap. “You should go now, Spence, before…”

Spencer nods and pulls Ryan to him once more, hugging him tightly. “Call me when you land,” he says in Ryan’s ear. “Or call Brendon, because I’m probably going over there. Just… just call.” It’s stupid, really, how needy he feels, and he makes himself step back. “Go,” he says quietly, “before I keep you here.”

Ryan looks like that wouldn’t be a bad idea, but then Spencer sees him take a deep breath and stand up straighter. “I’ll call,” he says, and turns on his heel. Spencer watches him head for the security checkpoint, Ryan getting smaller and smaller until he disappears into the line. It’s only then that Spencer can bring himself to go back to his car, where he sits alone, just breathing and determinedly not thinking, for fifteen whole minutes before starting the engine and driving to Brendon’s.

 

**iii.**

Brendon doesn't answer the door, but Spencer had kind of expected that, so he lets himself in with the key that's been on his ring since Brendon bought this place three years ago. “I know you're home,” he calls, “since your car is in the fucking driveway!”

Brendon's sprawled on the couch, watching the _Batman: The Animated Series_ DVDs Jon had gotten him last year for Christmas. “There's coffee in the kitchen if you want some,” he says, not looking at Spencer.

“Thanks.”

Spencer finds one of Brendon's mismatched mugs, oddly colored things from several different countries, and pours himself a cup. He glances at the clock on the microwave and is kind of startled to see that it's not even ten. “Why are you even awake?” he asks Brendon, going back out to the living room.

“Couldn't sleep,” Brendon mutters, and lifts himself off the couch enough that Spencer can slide in behind him. “I miss them already.”

“Me too.”

“Ryan get to the airport okay?”

Spencer sips his coffee with care. “Yeah.”

Brendon tips his head back to look at him. “How long before you go out there?”

Spencer knows he should be surprised that Brendon's figured it out already, or maybe that he's so transparent, but he's not. Not really. “When my divorce is final.”

“That's not too long, right?”

“No. Or so I'm told.”

Brendon pulls Spencer's free arm around his waist, holding on to his hand. “Where did it all go wrong?” he asks.

“It didn't go wrong,” Spencer answers calmly, knowing that Brendon is talking about the band, not his ruined marriage. “We just grew up.”

It's what he's been telling himself for months, since they decided ( _together_ ) that the tour was their last one. Seven years was a long time to live that life, Spencer told himself, longer than most bands got. And he'd never seen himself living it forever, even when he said it was what he wanted for his whole life. “You lied back there,” Ryan had accused him once. “When the interviewer asked if you could do this forever. I know when you're lying, Spencer.”

Spencer had looked down at his hands. “Even if I did, my body would give out long before I wanted it to,” he'd replied. “Why not stop while we're still young?” he'd asked, with more force than he'd meant to put into it. “Get out while we're still ahead.”

Ryan had been quiet for a long time. Finally, he'd said, “Maybe you're right. Maybe that would be best.”

Spencer harbors no doubts that he'd put the seed of the idea into Ryan's mind that day, but he's never mentioned it to anyone. Not even Brendon, when Brendon had been struggling, when they had thought for a few weeks that the band would have to end just so Brendon could pull himself together again.

Spencer had been the one to tell him, to make Brendon think that his actions might ruin the band. “If you keep going down this path,” he'd said, looking Brendon straight in the eye, “the band will end. It will all be over. And everyone will know that it was because you embraced the fucking rock star lifestyle a little too fully. You need to clean up, or it's over.”

Brendon had cleaned up, and he hasn't slipped once since, not even the night they'd told Pete. Spencer's proud of him. Even if he does need to shower. “Dude, when was the last time you washed your hair?” he asks, wrinkling his nose.

“Yesterday,” Brendon says, but it's totally a lie.

“Go shower or I'm not snuggling with you anymore,” Spencer tells him, pushing Brendon away. “I'll figure out something for breakfast while you get clean.”

Brendon's kitchen is next to empty, though, so Spencer goes out to buy bagels and muffins. When he gets back, Brendon is standing in the hallway, looking forlorn. “I thought you left,” he murmurs.

Spencer sets the bag on the counter and pulls Brendon into his arms, inhaling his damp, clean scent. “I love you, dude,” he says. “I wouldn't just go without saying goodbye.”

 

**iv.**

Three months pass quicker than Spencer expects them to. He sells his house, puts what little he owns in storage, sleeps in Brendon's spare bedroom. After his last court hearing, when the judge officially grants his and Haley's divorce, Brendon drives him to the airport. “You going to be okay?” Spencer asks him.

“I'll be fine. I've got _plans_ ,” Brendon says. Spencer rolls his eyes and hugs him. He figures Brendon's plans have something to do with the piano, because he's been practicing like mad, but he's not giving anything away.

Brendon clings to him for a minute, then straightens up. “Call me when you get to Ryan's, okay? So I know you both made it all the way there and didn't get in a car crash or anything.”

“You're such an optimist,” Spencer laughs. Brendon bumps his shoulder. “We'll both be back for Thanksgiving, okay? I still have stuff in your basement.”

“You better.” Brendon's eyes are bright, and Spencer bends down to pick up his suitcase so he doesn't have to look. “I'll see you later, Spencer Smith.”

“Counting on it,” Spencer says over his shoulder, and lifts his luggage onto the security table. When he looks back again, Brendon is gone.

The flight is short compared to others he's been on, and Spencer wants to doze off but he can't. He turns his face to the window and looks out. Clouds give way to a bright sunset gives way to darkness, and Spencer loses track of time. Before he knows it, the pilot is announcing their descent.

Ryan's waiting for him in arrivals, standing at the bottom of the escalator, wrapped up in a coat and scarf. There's too many people, Spencer can't run down the moving steps like he wants to; he has to wait, his gaze locked on Ryan's, and when he finally, finally reaches the bottom, Ryan slides fast into his arms like it's been years and not just a few months.

“I missed you so fucking much,” Spencer whispers, and Ryan holds him tighter.

Someone bumps into them and Spencer remembers they’re standing in a crowded airport. Ryan lets go, but doesn’t step away, his gloved hand curled into Spencer’s jacket pocket. “I hope you brought warmer clothes,” he says as they shuffle towards the luggage carousel.

“Kind of,” Spencer replies, and Ryan laughs.

“I have scarves,” he says. Spencer grins and bumps him as they watch the conveyor start to spin.

It’s snowing as they head for Ryan’s car. Spencer stops for a second before getting in, looking up at the sky. _You live here now_ , he says to himself, one hand on the door of Ryan’s dark green SUV. Snowflakes stick to his eyelashes. “Spencer!” Ryan hollers. “Are you getting in or what?”

Spencer opens the door and gets in.

 

**v.**

It’s late when they reach Ryan’s house. Spencer texts Brendon that he made it and he and Ryan haul his suitcases inside. “It’s smaller than I would have thought from the pictures,” he says, looking around.

“Yeah. But sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world out here, which is kind of nice,” Ryan replies. “And it’s not far to civilization, dude, if you get bored with me. Nine out of ten people in town have no clue who I am, and the ones who do usually get the name of the band wrong.”

Spencer grins. “How wrong?”

“One guy was pretty sure we were called Pandemonium at the Theater.”

Spencer cracks up, he can’t help it, laughing until his stomach aches and he has to sit down in one of Ryan’s kitchen chairs. “Did you tell Jon?” he asks, when he can talk again. Jon’s kept a running list of all the strange things people have called them over the years. It’s lengthy, and he keeps telling them he’s going to start a website.

“Of course.” Ryan unhooks two coffee mugs from under the cupboard. “Uhm, coffee?”

“At midnight? Fuck, yeah.” Spencer stretches his arms over his head, then rolls his shoulders forward and back. He shrugs at Ryan’s curious look. “Too much airplane.”

Ryan nods. “So, everything go okay this morning?”

“Yeah.” Spencer feels like it was a hundred years ago already. “I’m officially a free man,” he says, but it sounds hollow, and Ryan looks sympathetic as he hands Spencer his coffee and gestures towards the living room.

There’s an overstuffed chair, a leather loveseat, and what looks like miles of bookcases and shelves filled with Ryan’s records and books and music memorabilia. It’s nothing like his house had been in Las Vegas. That had hardly ever seemed like anyone lived there at all. This looks like _home_ , and the couch with Ryan folding himself onto it is calling Spencer's name. There's even a blanket, because it's just a little bit cold. He looks at Ryan, who hides a smile behind his coffee cup. Spencer swallows his heart back down to the proper place. 

They look at each other for another minute before Ryan sighs and says, "You're so lame, would you just get over here?" and Spencer goes. "I can't stand seeing you look so pathetic," Ryan grumbles. 

Spencer laughs and sets his cup down so he doesn't dump it all over, and Ryan hauls him close. Spencer presses his face to Ryan's shoulder. "Don't you feel weird?" he asks. "That there's no more band?"

"We'll always be a band," Ryan replies, his voice quiet but firm, his fingers tugging at Spencer's hair. "We're just a retired one."

He sounds like he's been practicing that, which Spencer doesn't doubt. He hums into Ryan's sweater - Ryan's wearing a _sweater_ and Spencer's pretty sure it used to belong to Jon - and closes his eyes. "I don't think I can keep myself awake much longer, no matter how much coffee I pour down my throat," he mumbles.

"Then go to sleep," Ryan says, in the voice that insists his suggestion is the most obvious one in the world. 

Spencer didn't really want to get to Ryan's and fall asleep right away, but he can practically feel his brain waves slowing, and he's pretty sure that's a not a good sign. "Don't wanna move."

"I didn't say you had to, dumbass." That's Ryan's exasperatedly affectionate voice. 

Spencer smiles. "What happened to us?" he whispers, and Ryan rubs his neck gently. 

"Life happened." Ryan shrugs as he says it, jostling Spencer's comfortable position just a little. "But the good thing about life, dude, is that sometimes you get a couple chances."

Spencer wants to ask if Ryan's giving him another chance, another shot at what they could have started years ago, but he's so close to sleep that he can't make his mouth work, and settles instead on rubbing the warm strip of skin between Ryan's sweater and jeans with his thumb before giving in to his exhaustion completely. 

 

 **vi.**

It takes Spencer two weeks to really feel like he belongs. Brendon ships some of his stuff and he buys a bed. He and Ryan paint his bedroom before it’s delivered, three walls a light gray and one a dark slate, Ryan claiming he’d at least learned _something_ from all the interior decorators he’d hired over the years. Spencer had laughed and swiped his paintbrush down Ryan’s shirt and Ryan had retaliated, and they’d ended up with more paint on each other than on the wall that day.

The night his bed arrives, Spencer lays in it for two hours staring up at the ceiling. Then he gets up and goes to Ryan’s room.

Ryan leaves his door open and he kicks half the covers off while he sleeps. Spencer _knows_ this, has known this for years, and he should be prepared for the sight of Ryan through the doorway, dead asleep, his t-shirt rucked up and his hand resting on his stomach. But he’s not.

Spencer remembers being fourteen and going to a summer camp for three weeks, an overnight thing, four boys to a cabin. He remembers missing Ryan so much that he’d been half-convinced he had a crush on him, because why else would it hurt so bad? He’d been freaked out the whole time he was there, and then he’d been freaked out to go home. But Ryan had been sitting on his front porch with his guitar when Spencer’s dad had turned the car into the driveway. “I missed your stupid face so fucking much,” Ryan had said, and then, “can you practice now?” and behind the drum kit, Spencer had forgotten all about his internal war.

Now, nudging Ryan’s door open a little further, so he can slip through, he knows exactly what it had been. It had taken him another four years, a new band, a record deal, and a tour before he’d figured it out. And he’d filed it away, because Haley had been there, and Spencer was good at filing things away, and Ryan was still his best friend.

“Spencer?” Ryan mumbles, sitting up a little.

Spencer wonders if he’d been thinking too loud and shifts from foot to foot. “My bed is lonely,” he sighs finally. “I’ve never been good at sleeping alone.” Ryan moves over, leaving open the warm space where he’d been. “You don’t have to give me the good spot,” Spencer adds.

Ryan smiles sleepily, his eyes barely open, and waves a hand around. Spencer climbs into the bed and Ryan pulls the covers over them, slings his arm around Spencer’s waist, presses his face into the back of Spencer’s neck. “Still lonely?” he whispers.

“No,” Spencer replies, relaxing into the warmth of the blankets, of Ryan’s body curved around his. “Much better.”

“Good.” Ryan rubs his cheek against Spencer’s neck, and Spencer shivers. “Cold?”

“No, just…” He searches for the right words, but all that comes is, “don’t do that.”

Ryan makes a slightly disappointed noise. Spencer wants badly to turn over and touch him, but he doesn’t want to mess with an increasingly fragile moment. “Sleep,” Ryan whispers, and Spencer is afraid he’s missing chances again, so he threads his fingers through Ryan’s and squeezes. Ryan squeezes back tightly and doesn’t move away, stays pressed close.

 

**vii.**

Ryan crowds him against the kitchen counter the next morning and kisses him. Spencer’s not expecting it; he’s reaching for a plate when Ryan steps into his space. “What-” is all he gets out before Ryan’s mouth is on his, warm and soft and coffee-flavored. Spencer has no defenses against this, he never has, he just stops reaching and touches Ryan’s waist instead.

Ryan makes an encouraging noise and presses him harder against the counter. Spencer opens his mouth, lets his tongue brush Ryan's. He feels Ryan's hand slide around the back of his neck, Ryan's fingers slipping into his hair. He sucks Ryan's lower lip between his teeth, feels as well as hears the moan that escapes him. They stay that way, trading kisses, until Ryan presses his face into Spencer's neck, skimming his lips over Spencer's pounding pulse.

“I wasn't expecting you to do that,” Spencer breathes.

“Bullshit. You've been expecting it since you got here.” Ryan's voice is muffled against his skin. “I know when you're lying, dude.”

He's right, almost. “You still took me by surprise.”

“Well, good. That was what I wanted to do.” Ryan kisses him again, slowly and leisurely, taking his time. Spencer's entire body is humming, flushed, vibrating like it hasn't been since the last show.

Ryan takes a step back and retrieves the plate that Spencer had been reaching for. “You want jelly on your toast?”

“I want cereal, but you don't have any.”

“We'll go to the grocery store later,” Ryan says, taking a knife from the drawer.

Spencer gets it, he thinks. They've gone so long without this, now Ryan is probably going to make him wait for everything. Or try to make him wait. Spencer shivers, brushes his hand over Ryan's back. Ryan smiles at him over his shoulder, long bangs falling into his eyes, then turns back to the toaster. “It got cold,” he says.

“That's okay.” Spencer's eaten plenty of cold toast, cold eggs, cold hash browns, at probably every IHOP across America. “Can I borrow a sweater when we go out?”

“Sure.” Ryan pauses, the plate of toast in his hands. “We could probably go looking for some winter clothes today, too. So you can stop wearing mine.”

Spencer looks down at the flannel pajamas he's wearing. He grins. “What, I don't look good in your pajamas?”

Ryan's mouth twitches, and Spencer knows he's holding back something that's either extremely sarcastic, or extremely dirty. He leans in, kisses the half-smile off of Ryan's face, leaving his breath hitching. “The toast,” Ryan whispers.

Spencer puts it on the counter and slides his hands up under Ryan's UNLV hoodie. Ryan's skin is hot under his palms. He goes further up, to touch Ryan's nipples, making Ryan jerk against him. Then he steps back, picks up the plate. “Toast?”

“You fucker,” but Ryan's laughing.

“I can play your game too, Ross,” Spencer says with a grin. He shoves a whole triangle of jelly-spread toast into his mouth.

“Gross.”

Spencer shrugs and holds out a piece, still chewing. Ryan tilts his head and tales a bite, not taking it out of Spencer's hand. Spencer licks crumbs from the corner of his own lips and watches him. “When was the last time you had sex?” he asks, and Ryan coughs. “Don't choke.”

“I won't. Three weeks ago.” Spencer raises an eyebrow at him. Ryan leans against the refrigerator. “I was kind of seeing this girl in town for a while.”

“And?”

“And it wasn't anything serious,” Ryan says firmly. “What about you?”

It's been long enough that Spencer has to count. “Seven... no, eight months.”

Ryan's eyes widen. “With who?”

“Haley.”

“But-”

“I know. It was fucked up.”

Ryan takes another bite of the toast, chews thoughtfully. “It's all right if I make you wait a while longer?” he asks, his voice low.

Spencer's response is immediate. “You're worth it.”

“You don't know that.”

Spencer leans in again and licks a smear of jelly off Ryan's lip. “I think I do.”

 

**viii.**

When Brendon picks them up at the airport at the end of November, he just looks from Spencer to Ryan to Spencer again, and shakes his head. “What?” Ryan demands.

“Finally,” Brendon huffs.

Spencer catches Ryan’s eye and pulls a face. They haven’t, not yet. It’s turned into a game, almost, how far they can push each other. Spencer has gotten to be very, very good friends with his hand and the mental list of things he wants to do to Ryan when they finally give in. It’s a long list. It’s detailed.

Ryan smirks back and it’s all Spencer can do not to push him against the wall of the elevator and kiss it right off his mouth. Brendon looks between the two of them again and rolls his eyes. “Seriously,” he grumbles.

“Is Jon here?” Spencer asks, pretending he has no idea what Brendon’s talking about.

“My house is a mess of small child toys and sippy-cups,” is Brendon’s answer, and Spencer takes that to mean yes. The last time he’d seen Jon’s girls, Emma had just started walking and Maddy was only a few weeks old. He’s got a picture from that visit, on his desk in the study, of Jon cradling a tiny pink bundle of baby. It’s one of Spencer’s most favorite pictures in the world, and he's impatient to get to Brendon’s and see them.

It’s crowded with people when they arrive, and Spencer feels himself flush at the cheer that goes up when they walk through the door. Brendon has packed in what appears to be everyone’s entire family, and Spencer starts hugging people. His mom holds on to him tight for a minute. “I miss you,” she says in his ear, “but I’m even more glad that you’re happy.” Spencer hugs her tighter.

Jon emerges from the crowd and attempts to pick him up. “Spencer Smith!”

“Dude, I have missed your ugly face,” Spencer replies, grinning. “How’s Chicago?”

“Cold. And you can’t give me shit about it anymore, living where you do.”

“Yeah, whatever. Where’s the kids?”

“Somewhere.” Jon lets go of him and stands on his tiptoes to look around the room. “They’re so confused at all these people,” he laughs. “Emma seemed to recognize Brendon, but Maddy was way too little the last time you guys saw them.” He leads Spencer along the outside of the room to the couch where Cassie’s sitting with the baby.

She waves at them cheerfully. “You’re back, so I can escape to the bathroom!” she says, handing Maddy to Jon and hugging Spencer on her way past. “Good to see you, Spence.”

“You, too.”

Jon holds out the baby, and Spencer smiles and scoops her up. She blinks at him, and her mouth works, but she doesn’t cry. Spencer lets out a sigh of relief. Jon grins at him. “She’s yours for the afternoon now,” he says. “If she cries right away, you’re no good. If she doesn’t cry, you’re golden.”

Spencer’s not going to admit it to Jon, but he’s sort of ridiculously pleased at this. He offers Maddy his finger, and she wraps her tiny fist around it and tries to stick his fingertip into her mouth. “Yeah, you’re totally good,” Jon tells him, and claps Spencer on the shoulder. “I guess I should find the other one.”

He leaves Spencer standing there with an armful of baby, suddenly panicking at being left by himself with her. Maddy chews on his finger and doesn’t seem to notice. Spencer catches Ryan’s eye across the room and makes the “help me!” face, but Ryan just grins widely.

Cassie comes back, but instead of taking Maddy, she just laughs at him. “No, you’re stuck, honey,” she says, “and I’m going to make with the mingling while I can.” She disappears as well, and Spencer gives up and cuddles Maddy a tiny bit closer. 

 

**ix.**

They stay up much later than Spencer is used to now. He and Ryan are yawning by dinner, the consequence of catching the earliest flight they could manage to book, and by one, Spencer is barely able to keep his eyes open, laying on Brendon's living room floor, wrapped around Ryan. Jon and Brendon are tangled together on the couch, but Spencer's pretty sure they're at least trying to pay attention to the movie on the television, unlike he and Ryan are. “I don't get it,” he hears Jon say. “When did Ryan decide he wasn't straight?”

“They haven't even slept together,” Brendon replies. “Ryan might still be straight. But seriously, Jon, no straight guys make out like they just were.”

“We can hear you,” Spencer says dryly.

“Besides, I've decided I'm Spencer-sexual,” Ryan adds.

Spencer muffles his laugh in Ryan's shoulder, then turns suddenly to look up at Brendon. “How did you know we haven't actually had sex?”

Brendon scrunches up his face. “There are signs. Ryan isn't exhibiting any.”

“What do you mean, signs?” Ryan asks. “And how do you know?”

Spencer's stomach drops. He knows where this is heading, and there's no good way to stop it. He can either beat Brendon to the punch, or let Ryan hear it from Brendon's mouth. “Because Brendon and I slept together,” he says.

He can feel Ryan tense slightly. “When?”

“Five years ago.” He presses his mouth close to Ryan's ear. “Can I explain later? Please? I don't think Jon really wants to hear all the details.” 

Ryan nods, and Spencer feels him relax slightly, melting back against him again. “Five years,” Ryan whispers.

Jon coughs. “And now that it's all awkward in here, I think I'm going to bed,” he announces, punching Brendon in the arm. “You're cooking breakfast for everyone tomorrow, you fuck.”

“What? What did I do?” Brendon asks. Ryan gets up and pulls Spencer to his feet. 

“It's fine, Brendon,” Spencer says. “It's not like I was going to keep it a secret much longer.”

They say their goodnights and Ryan pulls Spencer up the stairs. In the bedroom, he starts stripping off his clothes. “Do to me what you did to Brendon,” he says. 

Spencer's shocked into stillness. “What?”

“Touch me like you touched him,” Ryan whispers. “Please, Spencer, I can't stand it that he's had you and I haven't.”

This is not at all what Spencer had planned. This isn't on his list. “No, Ry, wait-”

“Don't you want me?” Ryan pushes off his briefs, and Spencer's shocked again to see that he's hard, his cock flushed and jutting. 

“All the time,” he breathes. “But I don't want this to be about anger. I don't think you do, either. You're angry right now.”

“I'm not.”

Spencer shakes his head. “You are. Fuck, let me explain about Brendon, okay?”

Ryan sits down on the bed, spreading his legs, and Spencer has to look away before he gives in. “Fine.”

“When I fucked Brendon – and that's what it was, fucking – it _was_ about anger. He was messed up and I was mad. It was punishment, Ryan. It wasn't love. It wasn't sweet or tender or any of the things I want it to be with you, okay? I hurt him on purpose. And it worked, he stopped fucking up, but it took me a whole year to stop feeling like I'd pushed him past where he could go. And we're okay now; I love Brendon like he's my flesh and blood, but there was a time when I thought I'd ruined our friendship. Don't you get it? It can't be like that with you, Ry, or I'll never forgive myself.”

Ryan's staring at him, his mouth hanging open. “Are you telling me that you fucked Brendon into behaving?”

Spencer lets out a long, shaky breath. “Basically.”

“That's – that's kind of hot, Spencer,” Ryan says weakly. 

“ _What?_ ”

“That's kind of hot,” Ryan repeats, stronger this time, and grins. He slides a hand around his cock. Spencer swallows hard. “I want you to watch,” Ryan says.

“Okay,” Spencer says automatically.

“I know you like looking at my cock,” Ryan continues. Spencer feels dizzy, his knees shaky. “You like it, right?”

“Yes.” It's barely more than breath. Right now, Spencer's pretty sure what he feels for Ryan's dick is more than _like_. It's more as though his knees are itching from the urge to drop to the floor, open his mouth, and let Ryan come down his throat.

Ryan's eyes slip shut, and Spencer sees his hand tighten. He takes a step forward, but Ryan says “don't you move,” and he freezes.

Ryan swirls his thumb around the head of his cock, something Spencer would really like to be doing, especially with his tongue. “Ryan-”

“I said stay there.”

“What if I don't?”

Ryan opens his eyes and looks at him. Spencer's heart is pounding, he's so hard it's nearly painful, and he palms himself through his jeans. Sees Ryan's twitch when he does, watches Ryan bite his bottom lip. “I thought this wasn't about punishment,” Ryan says in a low voice.

Spencer matches his tone. “Five minutes ago you were begging me to touch you.”

Ryan touches his cock slowly, staring at him. “Maybe I was just angry.”

“Ryan-” Spencer stops, closes his eyes. Opens them again. “Why are we making each other wait?” he whispers, walking toward him. He wraps his hand around Ryan's, moving with Ryan's strokes.

“I don't want it to suck,” Ryan whispers back, sounding like he's choking on the words. Spencer leans in and kisses him, slowly, carefully, not stopping until Ryan is moaning, their hands moving faster, and then he sucks hard on Ryan's tongue and Ryan comes with a whine. Spencer kisses him through it, holding the back of Ryan's neck with his free hand. “Spencer,” Ryan breathes against his lips. “You-”

“Quiet,” Spencer murmurs, guides Ryan's hand to his own cock. Two squeezes through the material and Spencer's coming, sparks behind his eyelids, not caring that these are his brand-new jeans. Ryan rubs his hip and Spencer falls down on the bed. “Can I pass out now?” he mumbles.

“In a minute.” Ryan starts unbuttoning his shirt, and Spencer shoves out of his jeans and boxers. When his clothes are all on the floor, they wiggle underneath the blankets and Spencer curves around Ryan, mumbles that he loves him, and falls asleep just as the last syllable passes his lips.

 

**x.**

Spencer’s sprawled on the floor of Brendon’s kitchen. He’s holding Maddy in one arm and he’s got a cup of coffee in the other hand. Emma is sitting between his feet, hitting a plastic bowl with a spoon. It’s loud and bordering on obnoxious and Spencer’s decided he loves it. A shadow falls over him and he looks up to see Ryan. “Kid’s got rhythm,” he says, and Ryan laughs and sits down next to him.

“Where is everyone?”

“Well, first Brendon apparently burned whatever it is he was trying to cook, and decided to just go out and buy bagels or something. And Jon and Cassie decided, for some reason, that they needed to go with. I guess Brendon can’t be trusted in a grocery store. I think they really just wanted to leave us here with the kids.”

Ryan grins widely, and Spencer grins back. Emma climbs into Ryan’s lap, bowl and spoon in tow. “Hey,” she says, “hey, you,” and goes back to hitting the bowl. Ryan looks over in confusion.

Spencer shrugs. “I guess she wants you to pay attention.” Maddy babbles something and he looks down at her. “Your mommy should be back soon,” he says, and she babbles some more.

“Spence,” Ryan says hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

Spencer leans over to kiss the corner of Ryan’s mouth. “I’m great,” he murmurs. “Are you okay?”

Ryan nods and returns the kiss. Then Maddy pulls on Spencer’s shirt, and Emma misses the bowl and hits Ryan right on the knee with her spoon, and Spencer starts to laugh. “I hope their parents get back soon,” Ryan says dryly. Spencer laughs harder and Ryan takes the coffee mug away from him, drinks the rest of Spencer’s coffee.

“That was mine,” Spencer wheezes, trying to breathe again.

The back door bangs open and Brendon, Jon and Cassie all crowd through at once, bakery bags in their arms. “Did you get poppyseed?” Ryan asks.

“Just because you’re holding my kid doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you, Ross,” Jon replies. “And yes. There’s at least one of every kind, because someone couldn’t choose.”

“Strawberry’s mine,” Cassie adds, sweeping Maddy out of Spencer’s hold and rubbing her nose against the baby’s.

Spencer plucks the mug from Ryan’s hand and stands up. “I’ll get more,” he promises, as Jon lifts Emma off of Ryan and sits down with her at the table, offering a piece of a muffin. Spencer watches as she looks a little unconvinced, then takes it from him and stuffs it into her mouth.

“It’s like she understands there’s sugar,” Jon chuckles.

Brendon has retrieved the little containers of cream cheese from the bottom of the bag, and also all the cinnamon-raisin bagels. “You better share those,” Spencer tells him, refilling his coffee and adding cream just for Ryan. “Right now, Bren.”

He hands the mug to Ryan, who mouths _I love you_ with a sigh, drinks half of it right away, then offers it back. Brendon holds out half a fragrant bagel with just the right amount of maple cream cheese. The kitchen is warm and noisy and no matter how hard he tries, Spencer can’t imagine a better moment than this.

 

**xi.**

He wakes up from his nap on the couch to the muffled sound of music. Brendon’s got a whole setup in his basement, assorted instruments from all over, and Spencer figures that’s probably where it’s coming from. He untangles himself from the afghan and gets up, goes down the steps.

Ryan’s curled in a chair, an acoustic guitar on his lap, and his eyes are closed. Jon’s sitting on the floor in front of him with Brendon’s Tanglewood ABG. Spencer remembers when he bought it.

Brendon’s on the upright piano in the middle of the room, his head down. They’re playing a soft, stretched-out, slowed-down version of “Nails”, unlike Spencer’s ever heard it before, and judging from the way they’re feeling it out, only Brendon’s ever tried it like this.

Jon sees him first and gestures towards the shelves full of percussion instruments, but Spencer just shakes his head and sits down on the floor next to the piano. He’s not ready yet, and this doesn’t need it. Brendon sings a line here and there, but mostly just plays, and what he does sing is low and breathy and quiet.

Spencer and Ryan are leaving later tonight, the last flight out. Jon and Cassie are leaving tomorrow morning. Spencer’s glad he’s not Brendon, not going to be the one with an empty house. He’ll have someone to sleep against on the plane, someone to stop at Starbucks with on their way home from the airport, someone to go to bed with when they stumble in their front door.

As if he can tell Spencer’s thinking about him, Ryan opens his eyes. His smile is aimed just at Spencer, and it’s the one that makes Spencer’s skin flush and sets his blood humming. As soon as they get home, Spencer is starting on his list. He’s done waiting, and he’s pretty sure Ryan is, too.

He’d told his mom yesterday. She’d been rolling out cookie dough and she’d barely blinked. “I kind of figured, sweetie, when you moved there,” she’d said. “I mean, why else would you go somewhere you’d never been, away from everyone else you know?”

“But- we weren’t, not right away…” He’d felt completely embarrassed and stupid, but his mom had just squeezed his hand.

“You and Ryan were pretty much always two halves of a whole,” she’d replied. “And don’t worry, your father’s figured it out, too.” And Spencer had put his face on the table in relief, because that was not a conversation he’d really wanted to have with his dad.

The song winds to a close and there’s silence in the room. Then Brendon leans sideways off the bench to look at him. “Your whole kit is under that sheet, Spencer,” he says.

“I know,” Spencer responds, because he’d seen the familiar shape. “I’m rusty.”

“It’s like riding a bike, dude. Or falling off a bike, whichever you want.” Brendon grins. “On two and four, with conviction. Besides, I want to play something a little more upbeat now, so we need you.”

Spencer stands up. “It’ll take me a little while to see what kind of shape she’s in.”

Ryan strums a lazy chord. Spencer can feel his gaze. Brendon matches the sound, still smiling. “That’s okay,” he says. “We can wait.”

 

**epilogue**

Spencer’s balanced rather precariously on the edge of the chair, reaching out with the star towards the top of the tree. Ryan’s sitting on the couch, his hand over his eyes, and Spencer can hear him muttering “don’t fall into the tree, don’t die, they’re gonna be here any minute” and tries not to laugh as he lunges upward one more time and finally gets the damned wire star on top of their kinda lopsided Christmas tree.

The doorbell rings right as he jumps off the chair. “See? All good,” he tells Ryan, and they both try to shove through the doorway at the same time to get to the front door.

“Jon got lost,” Brendon announces before he even gets inside.

“Because you can’t read a map,” Jon replies. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, we said we’d pick you up,” Ryan reminds him, as they all trade hugs and wrestle winter coats off the girls. “But no, you wanted to rent a car.”

Spencer carries coats to the closet, with Emma helping, as Ryan gives the tour. “Thank you,” he says, as she hands him her hat last. “That’s a very nice hat.” Emma beams up at him proudly, and Spencer can’t help but smile. She holds her arms out, and he lifts her up so they can go find everyone else.

“Our children are madly in love with Spencer,” Jon says to Cassie when Spencer gets to the living room. "Can we leave them here?"

Cassie laughs and smacks his arm. "No, we can't leave them. Besides, we can't let Spencer see them at their most terrible. He'll never let us come to his house again."

"I doubt that," Spencer says, sitting down on the floor and tickling Emma so that she giggles. Jon and Cassie both give him a look, which he ignores. 

Ryan and Brendon come back into the room, loaded with drinks and snacks. Ryan sets his tray on the coffee table and curls up next to Spencer on the floor, and Emma gets up off his lap, aiming for the bowl of pretzels. Jon catches her and she shrieks. 

Ryan lays his head on Spencer's thigh, and Spencer slides his fingers through Ryan's hair. "Spencer," Ryan whispers. "I need to ask you something. Right now."

"Yeah?"

Ryan looks up at him, his eyes wide. "Am I enough for you?" he asks, his voice still soft.

Spencer blinks. "Dude, yes." He leans down, brushes his mouth against Ryan's, wondering where the question had come from. "You know I love you."

"Enough to not have a life like theirs?"

It clicks suddenly in Spencer's head, what Ryan's worried about, what the strange looks on his face since Thanksgiving have been about. "Yes," he says firmly. "A _million_ times, yes."

"Okay." Ryan smiles up at him. Then there's a flash, followed by a pretzel hitting the side of Spencer's face. It falls onto Ryan's forehead, and they both look up to see that Brendon, Jon, and Cassie are all trying very hard not to look at them, not to mention trying very hard not to laugh. "Apparently we can't have serious conversations when there's company," Ryan says, chuckling. He sits up, and Spencer puts an arm around his waist. 

"I took a picture," Jon says, grinning. "Of your little moment. You two are gross. And adorable. But mostly gross."

Spencer laughs and flings the pretzel at him. "Shut up."

Jon lifts the camera again. "One more? It's Christmas, after all."

Spencer rolls his eyes but obliges, tugging Ryan close. As the flash pops, Ryan kisses his cheek, high up, and Spencer closes his eyes. His house is full, and so is his heart, so close to overflowing that it's almost perfect. "I wouldn't feel this way without you," he whispers in Ryan's ear.

"I'm not going anywhere," Ryan whispers back, and stays close.


End file.
